The Other Twin
by walked-into-the-sky
Summary: Angelina Johnson. George Weasley. How'd it happen? Like this. Angelina-centric.
1. The Best Man

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I am but a humble fanfiction author trying and failing to do J. K. Rowling's genius creations justice.

So. I just became totally obsessed with George and Angelina while rereading The Chamber of Secrets. I don't know why, they were mentioned and I was like "OMG THEY GET MARRIED!" And then this happened. So. Read, review, enjoy, kthnks.

Prologue: The Best Man

"So," Katie Bell began casually, leaning backwards against the railing of my small London flat's balcony and smiling mildly at me, "Lee and I have set a date."

I promptly chocked on the coffee had I had been halfway through swallowing, sputtering over the edge of the railing and spitting the offending liquid down onto the heads of the poor, unsuspecting Muggles beneath us. Katie laughed, but thumped me on the back to ensure my continuing ability to breath.

"Stop being so melodramatic, it's not like we never planned on getting married," she admonished and I shot her an incredulous look.

"But you have been engaged for well over two years now."

Katie rolled her eyes, "We got engaged at the height of the war," she reminded me, "We had to make sure we were serious when it ended and that we hadn't done it because we thought we'd be dead the next week or something, remember?"

I couldn't really disagree with that reasoning seeing as I had been the one who had pointed it out in the first place. When Katie and Lee Jordan had gotten engaged in the December of 1997, during the second and final war You Know Who had brought to the wizarding world, I hadn't exactly been ecstatic about it. Quite the contrary, I had torn her a new one when she had told me, seeing as they had only been dating for two months prior to the proposal and, the way I saw it, were only agreeing to marriage out of a fear of dying alone. It had been on my advice that she had talked him out of elopement and they had settled in to wait for the end of the war.

"So," I said, reaching backwards to pick up my wine glass off of the small, round patio table behind us and taking a short sip, "When is the long awaited wedding going to be, then?"

"December. The three year anniversary of our engagement, actually."

"Ah," I glanced at her quickly, "And is six months enough time to plan a wedding?"

Katie must have gotten the hidden message in that sentence, because she grinned widely, "Only with you as my maid of honor, Angie," she teased, shoving me playfully when I snorted, "Don't be like that, you know you want to."

Of course I wanted to be her maid of honor. She was my best friend, after all.

"Your mum will help too, right?" I asked. Katie smirked.

"Are you kidding? She's been waiting ages for this."

There was a brief pause as Katie and I surveyed the London skyline, lit up by street lamps and flat windows in the night. The light pollution stopped the stars from peaking through the sky, but I could still see the large, yellowish orb that accompanied them. The moon was waxing and about three quarters of its full size tonight. As I stared at it, I could have sworn a broom rider passed in front of its unearthly light. A question struck me then and, offhandedly, I asked it.

"Who's going to be Lee's best man?"

Katie cleared her throat awkwardly and a feeling of foreboding swept over me so fast I nearly lost my balance. Oh, no. No, no, no. No.

"Angie, he is Lee's best friend," she said softly, but I wasn't having any of it.

"No."

It was one thing, seeing him in the context of on the street in Diagon Alley. I worked in Quality Quidditch Supplies and he ran his bloody joke shop, the occasional passing on the street was sort of unavoidable. But this, at a wedding, where we would both be playing pivotal roles? No. That was crossing into dangerous territory, far too dangerous for my tastes. Besides, he would _not_ want to work that closely with me, not after the way I had behaved in the weeks following You Know Who's fall and, more importantly, the death of his twin brother, who, incidentally, had been my boy friend. I had been awful to him; there was no two ways about it. And he was unlikely to forgive me anytime within the next century.

"Oh, come on, it's just George."

"Just George!" I exploded, spinning to face her and slamming my wine glass down so hard on the table beside me that the stem cracked in two places, "It is not _just George_! He doesn't want to see me, Katie!"

Katie looked horribly flustered, "You don't know that-!"

"Yes, I do! He's _furious_ with me!"

"Well," Katie drew herself up, flushing scarlet, "Maybe, if you took the time to apologize, he wouldn't be, Angelina! And don't give me some nonsense about him not wanting to talk to you! It won't hurt anything to at least try to tell him that you're sorry!"

My mouth dropped open and Katie, who had taken two seconds to brace herself for the screaming I would have subject her to had I not been so completely and utterly shocked, let out her breath, realizing that she had gotten me there. Never, in the two years that I had been staying far, far away from George Weasley in a misguided attempt at penance, had it occurred to me to _apologize_. And now that she had pointed it out, it seemed so bloody obvious.

"Tell him I'm sorry?" I repeated slowly when I regained the use of my mouth. Katie glowered at me.

"Yes, you idiot, apologize. You are sorry for what happened, aren't you?" she asked, suddenly looking unsure. I nodded quickly.

"Of course, yes, I'm very sorry, I just…I didn't think…I mean, he was so angry with me, Katie."

Katie shrugged nonchalantly, but I didn't miss the discomfort in her face, "Well, I mean, you did say some pretty rotten things. Of course, you were upset," she added hastily, catching what must have been the mortified look on my face. I took a step backwards to sink into one of the two wrought iron chairs my mother had gotten me for my birthday last year. Katie sat down in its twin, watching me warily, "You are okay with this, aren't you? Being the maid of honor to George's best man, I mean."

I took a moment to consider it. George had always been a close friend of mine, along with Fred and Lee and Katie. One of my best friends. He and I had been able to laugh together, we had supported each other, he hadn't even made it awkward when Fred and I had begun to see each other in a romantic fashion, quite the contrary he had thought the idea of the two of us brilliant. And there was the tiny fact that I missed him terribly and there was nothing that I regretted more than ruining my relationship with him. Perhaps, if I could just apologize, and do it right, we could go back to the way we had been before the war, back to being close friends.

I sighed heavily, "Only if he's alright with it."

Katie beamed and threw her arms around me, "Of course he will be!" she practically squealed directly into my ear, making me wince. "I'll go let Lee know you said yes!"

"Yes, alright, and tell him he's a prat while you're at it, will you?"

She laughed and shook her head, "Have a good night, Angie."

"You too."

As Katie Disapparated, I leaned back against the railing and took out my wand, waving it idly to repair the damage I had done to my wine glass in my uncalled for fit of rage.

George Weasley.

I buried my face in my hands.

Oh, hell.


	2. The Botched Reunion

Thank you, reviewers. You made my day!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would be blonde, British, and a genius. But, alas, I am a brunette, American, and a college sophomore with no direction in life. So yeah, it's safe to say I don't own.

If it wasn't clear before, this entire story is from Angelina Johnson's point of view and takes place two years post Voldemort's fall.

And I totally changed my penname from The Unconventional Lady to spicycheese, so this isn't some creepy poser story stealing person. Why? Dunno, felt like it. I like to think I'm an impulsive person.

And I'm explaining the George-Angelina falling out in this chapter…hopefully it's not sickeningly clichéd or, worse, overly angsty.

Please review, kthnks.

Chapter One: The Botched Reunion

The next morning I awoke to the sound of someone-probably Lee, if I had to guess-pounding rather rudely on the front door of my flat. Scowling and cursing the man's existence, I rolled out of my bed and plucked a random, long t shirt from the large, accumulating pile lying in the small space between my bed and the closet. It was one of the downsides to working at a Quidditch shop and living in London: you got landed with a small apartment and, as it was, still had difficulties making the rent on time. I yanked the shirt-red and bearing the crest of the Holy Head Harpies-over my head to cover my rather revealing camisole and stalked out into my sitting room and to the still knocking person on the other side of the door.

"Shove off, Lee, I'm coming!" I shouted, taking a quick glance in the mirror beside the door to make sure my hair wasn't doing anything too funny before tearing it open to find said man grinning sheepishly and holding a croissant. I snatched it from him, "This had better be for me."

He shrugged as I bit into it without waiting for an answer, "Of course, Angie, why not?"

I turned and started towards the kitchen. Lee took it as a sign that he was allowed entrance to my domain and shut the door quietly behind him, "So, Katie says you'll be maid of honor," he said and I glanced over my shoulder in the kitchen doorway in time to see him vault over the back of my run down, powder blue couch and land with a soft 'flump' on the cushions. Ever the overgrown child, it was only fitting that Lee, or as he had been called during the war, 'River' would continue his radio show, which had retained its famous name of 'Potterwatch', on the mainstream, continuously, as he put it, 'informing the public of truth with good humor and decidedly anti-Dark sentiments'. He plucked a second croissant from the folds of the jean jacket he was wearing and began nibbling on the corner.

"Watch for crumbs," I grumbled irritably in response, "Coffee?"

"You know how I like it," I entered the kitchen, grimacing when I heard him begin to curse croissants and their inability to stay in one piece until they entered the mouth.

"You know," I said when I reentered the room, bearing two strong black cups of coffee-that's how we had bonded back in third year, over our mutual love for coffee the way nature intended-and sat across from him on the scarlet arm chair I had inherited from my grandmother which was, incidentally, the nicest piece of furniture I owned, "you could have just told me yourself instead of sending your poor fiancé to do your dirty work."

Lee grinned sheepishly and waved his wand, ridding my sagging couch cushions of the crumbs that had escaped his hands, "Yeah, but you would have murdered me on the spot," he argued reasonably, taking the proffered cup of coffee and taking a sip, "That's my girl," he sighed blissfully, "Perfect."

"Too right," I mumbled in response to both of his sentiments, resting my heels on the oak table between the sofa and the chair and staring at him moodily, "So tell me, what'd he say when you told him I was Katie's maid of honor?" Lee looked at me once, quickly, before becoming very interested in a loose piece of thread that was hanging from his blue pull over's sleeve. I frowned, "You_ did_ tell him, didn't you? I told Katie that I'd only do it if he was okay with it."

"And he will be," Lee said guiltily, "I just…need to figure out the right way to do it."

"Oh," I snorted nastily, "Is that all, Lee? Really? There's no right way to tell George Weasley that he's going to have to see _me_ more and more often in the next six months."

"Katie said you were going to apologize."

"Only if he gives me the opportunity. I'm not about to force myself on him."

There was an awkward pause as we stared at each other, Lee frowning slightly and me trying not to look as completely and utterly miserable as I felt. Although, if the look on his face was any indication, I was not only failing miserably, but I was also walking myself into a conversation I did not want to have.

"Angelina," he sighed finally, "I've never asked, so hear me out," I flinched, but he plowed on, "Why'd you do it? Say that to him, I mean?"

"I—," What was I supposed to say to that, when I didn't even know myself? I had honestly been way out of my own control when I'd literally run into George just outside of the Leaky Cauldron, drunk, crying, and whining about how life wasn't fair. It hadn't occurred to me that there was no one who understood my feelings quite as well as he did, he'd been just as close, if not closer to Fred and gods, I had been so stupid when I'd shouted at him that "_you have no idea_." But, of course, that wasn't the worst of it.

"_Stop_," I'd spat, right in his face, "_trying to be Fred_."

He'd reared back, as though slapped, staring at me through hurt brown eyes, "_I'm not_," the whisper had been so absolutely pathetic it'd driven me right over the edge.

"_Good. You'll never replace him._"

He hadn't spoken to me since, though I do vaguely remember him dragging me up the fire escape to my floor in the rundown apartment building I lived in and seeing me all the way to my flat's front door before abandoning me. What a lovely, charming way to repay someone who was just trying to be a good, supportive friend, especially someone who'd lost just as much as I had when Fred had died. The worst part? I hadn't loved Fred, I'd liked him a lot, to be sure, but we had been young and I hadn't been stupid enough to think that we were soul mates or anything like that. But still, I'd been broken up over losing him, so much so I'd destroyed one of my most valued friendships over it—

"I don't know," I confessed softly and Lee nodded in a slow, sad understanding, "I was drunk, Lee, drunk, emotional, and _stupid _and—"

"Stop, Angie, you're making yourself feel worse," Lee stretched a hand across the table to grip my shoulder, "Listen, George…he was just as messed up as you were that night, it was their birthday after all, and he's never been what I'd call emotionally mature," he paused, looking slightly uncomfortable, "I know he'll be willing to talk to you, you've just got to get up the guts to do it."

He was right. I scowled at him.

"That shouldn't be a problem."

Lee lifted his eyebrow, his lips twitching up at the corners, "Whatever you say, Miss Johnson," he lifted his coffee mug and grinned, "Cheers."

* * *

Two days later I arrived home from work to find Katie's head sitting in my fireplace.

"_There _you are," she snapped, "I've been waiting ages; I thought you got off at five?"

I frowned and glanced at the clock. Six thirty. "You haven't been waiting an hour and a half, have you?"

"No," she wrinkled her nose, "Just an hour, where have you been?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," Katie rolled her eyes, scrunching her face oddly again, "Need a nose scratch?"

"Please."

I leaned down and dragged a nail over the bridge of her nose, chuckling when she went cross eyed to follow its progress, "To the left," she instructed, before sighing, "Yeah, that's good. So, you should come to our place tonight for dinner."

I stopped scratching to glare at her suspiciously, "Why?"

"_Because_ Lee's mum and my parents are coming to start with the wedding planning and as maid of honor, you sort of need to be there. Keep scratching," she added, sounding rather put out. I did so, staring distractedly out the window at the London skyline, bathed in red in the sunset.

"Fine," I said after a moment, "When?"

Katie grinned sheepishly, "Er. Now would be best. You haven't been drinking, have you?" I shot her a nasty look and she blushed, "Sorry, just wondering. So…I'll see you here in a few?"

"Yeah."

The second she pulled her head out of the fire, however, I decided that it most certainly would _not_ be a _few_. She wasn't going to pull a fast one on me, I wasn't stupid and she wasn't a good liar, and, though his name hadn't come up, her expression had been screaming, "Guess what? George's going be there, Angie, so it's time to FREAK OUT."

I wasn't prone to panic attacks, but I was fairly sure I was on the verge of one as I scrambled across my tiny flat and into my bedroom, tearing into my closet so fiercely that, within minutes, more of my clothes were on the floor around my bed rather than on the hangers on the rack. Still, I hadn't found anything suitable for facing an old and decidedly pissed off friend after a year and a half of stony silence and I continued tearing through the jackets and the dress pants and gods, I wished I could go back to the days that I could lounge around in George Weasley's dormitory-sometimes even on his _bed_, for Merlin's sake-in my pajamas and just plain _not care_ what he thought about my appearance.

I blinked, half way through ripping a jean jacket off its hanger, as the reality of my train of thought hit me like a sledge hammer.

Why _did_ I care what I looked like tonight? It wasn't like wearing a nice outfit would affect the meaning behind my apology. George knew me; he knew when I was sincere.

I frowned, stepped away from my closet, and turned to face the full mirror that leaned against the wall beside the door.

And besides, what was really so bad about an Irish Team t shirt and a pair of jeans? It was what I wore to work every day, what I dealt with customers varying from respectful to downright rude in everyday. And my hair, pulled back into a simple ponytail? It was a hairstyle one could not go wrong with. I didn't look _bad_, I looked like me, and that was what George would need to see. The me he'd known at Hogwarts, his classmate, Quidditch teammate, and close friend.

I turned resolutely away from the mess I had created, stalked out of my bedroom and across the sitting room to my tiny fireplace-I had lucked out with the placement of my flat, it was on the corner with the chimney-and reached into the round ceramic bowl I kept my Floo Powder in. I waved my wand, reigniting the flames that Katie had used, and tossed my handful in. Then, into the green fire I stepped, taking deep, calming breaths to fend off the remains of my small meltdown.

"Jordan Cottage!" I shouted.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Bell were fond of me, I knew that, but it was still sort of awkward when I barged out of the fireplace, completely overlooked their presence in the two armchairs Katie and Lee's small sitting room held, and did a quick three sixty, just to make sure George was not within a ten foot radius of me yet. It took Mr. Bell coughing softly to remind me that there were to be other guests that night and I spun away from the kitchen door, where I heard the unmistakable rumbling of male voices, to find my best friend's parents staring up at me, looking more than a little bemused.

"Angelina," Mrs. Bell said warmly, "wonderful to see you."

Mrs. Bell was a very petite woman with brown hair she had cropped to her shoulders and big, comforting brown eyes. She worked as a healer at St. Mungo's and had played a large part in the massive recovery effort that had taken place after the war. She smiled warmly at me and I returned the gesture, though I didn't sit, choosing instead to hover by the fireplace, just to be prepared.

"So, maid of honor," said Mr. Bell, a tall, burly and balding man, grinning, "How bad did my little girl do in her choice of husband?" Despite the seriousness in his expression, I didn't buy the over protective father act for a second. The man loved Lee, so much so that he had done a piece a month for his Daily Prophet column, 'The Sights and Sounds of the Wizarding World', on 'Potterwatch' since the end of the war. But still, that didn't mean I wouldn't play along.

I smirked, "Well, Lee is hardly what I would call mature—"

"Hey!" the man in question had just entered the room holding two mugs of coffee and scowling, "Angelina, you wanna talk about maturity? Weren't you the girl who charmed my microphone to say 'fart' every time I tried to say 'brilliant'?" Mrs. Bell giggled and we exchanged a grin.

"Yeah, but that was to break you of a nasty habit," I said reasonably, "You said that word way too much before I so generously intervened." Mr. Bell chuckled at the look of outrage on Lee's face.

"Not to worry son, I whole heartedly approve of your relationship with my daughter," he assured Lee, who turned on me, scowling.

"Ha! Despite your attempts at sabotage, the wedding goes on!" he intoned, pointing a dramatic finger at me. I rolled my eyes.

"Coffee?"

"Kitchen," the look on his face changed, became almost warning, and I nodded slightly. This was it. I turned and started for the kitchen door, bracing myself.

There was no handle on the door; it swung freely on its hinges, something that had proved useful on evenings past when Lee, Katie and I had transferred our dinners from the kitchen table to the sitting room in full hands. I reached out for it, pushing it open slightly and hesitating for a fraction of a second, trying to steady my breathing.

_Here I come, George Weasley_, I started forward, _we're going to talk so you'd better be—_

The door struck something hard and solid as I pushed—I heard the unmistakable sound of George cursing, the crack of shattering glass, and a squeal that could only belong to Katie. Behind me, Lee and Mr. Bell, who had been chatting amiably, stopped talking. My heart was suddenly in my throat.

Silence fell seconds later on both sides of the door and, after the longest second of my life, I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed slightly on the door again to test it, then opened it fully, trying to ignore the way my hands were shaking as I did.

And there he was, George, standing there, staring at me, and drenched in hot coffee.


End file.
